


les miz patchwork

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - School, Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, F/M, Gay, M/M, Multi, Pizza, all works in progress, courfeyrac is trans in one, i never understand math, moving barricades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Here's just a bunch of stories that I never finished and probably won't have time to, but they weren't half bad so I'm posting them anyway.(None of them are finished. None of them. Maybe I should finish?)There's different ships, different time periods, different characters--- it's a mess. Have fun!I say works in progressbut they're not really in progressit sucksbut feel free to comment if you think I should keep working on any of them!!
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Courfeyrac & Gavroche Thénardier, Courfeyrac/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Javert & Courfeyrac, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Joly/Musichetta
Kudos: 5





	1. babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> combeferre's babysitting for joly's kids while the latter goes on a date with bossuet + musichetta

“C’mon Combeferre. You know they’re well-behaved.”  
Combeferre adjusted his glasses and smiled with a slight air of condescension. “I’m busy. Find someone else, Jol. Between the three of you, you know about a million people.”  
“Please, ‘Ferre,” Joly whined, pulling a dramatic expression. “We haven’t gotten to go out for a date night in, like, three months.”  
“And I haven’t been on a date since, hmm… last winter break. It wasn’t even a good date,” his friend retorted, not backing down. “Surely you guys can find someone else.”  
With one heavy sigh, Joly widened his eyes pitifully, turning them up towards the taller man. “Please?” Combeferre looked away for a second or two, before nodding slowly. “Puppy eyes aren’t fair. But okay. Okay.”  
“Yessss!” the other cheered. “We’ll bring them by at six.” He pivoted to show himself out, but Combeferre grabbed one arm. “Wait. Can I invite Courf over to help?”  
“Heck yeah! Invite everyone. My kids have the best extended family ever.” Joly grinned brightly, tugging at one of Combeferre’s sweater sleeves. “Good thing I have so many friends, right?”  
“Good thing I’m your best friend,” Combeferre grumbled, before hugging his companion around his shoulders. “I’ll see you all at six.”

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-dingdingding— “I’m coming!” Combeferre shouted, making his way over and throwing open the door. Immediately, a small boy attacked his leg, beaming up at him. “Hai Uncle Comb-y,” he lisped, drawing a smile out of the man. “I getta play wif you!”  
On the front porch, Joly shrugged apologetically. “What can I say? He’s excited.” He gently pushed three more kids forward; a blond teenage girl scowling at a book, another toddler with denim overalls, and a gap-toothed boy with unruly hair. “Alix, Dominique, Philippe, you guys know Combeferre, of course.” They all nodded, and the child clinging to Combeferre’s leg detached and ran over, tugging on his dad’s hand. “I know Comb-y too!”  
Joly picked up his son, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I know you do, Jacques. I know you do.” The boy cheered and curled closer into his dad’s jacket. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I promise they’ll behave,” Joly said while smiling up at his friend. “Now, I guess I’d better go. ‘Chetta and I need to pick Bossuet up from work.’  
Combeferre nodded and reached out his arms for Jacques, who eagerly clambered over from his dad. “Have fun on your date, Jol. Your kids are in good hands.” Joly grinned, giving his friend a salute, and bounded down the stairs to the waiting car.  
Once the car pulled away, Combeferre surveyed the kids, before nodding once and stepping backwards. “You guys can come in. Courfeyrac’s here, and Prouvaire should be showing up soon with pizza.”  
Jacques jumped out of his arms and sprinted into the living room, shouting “Poo-ferre! Poo-ferre! Poo-ferre!” Alix looked up from her book, giving Combeferre a shrug. “He probably has a sugar high. Already. Somehow.”  
The man nodded, running one hand through his hair. “This’ll be fun,” he muttered, blinking hard a few times. “Very fun.” From the living room, joyful shouts could be heard, and Dominque ran off. “And that would be Courfeyrac’s wonderful child skills. Guess we’d better go in there.”  
Philippe led the way, marching as though he were a military commander, and the other two followed after him. In the living room, Jacques was laughing uproariously at something Courfeyrac was whispering in his ear, and Dominique had already figured out how to work the television remote.  
Combeferre put one hand on his hip, surveying the situation, and then shrugged. “That works.” He plopped down next to Courfeyrac and playfully elbowed him in the shoulder. The shorter man laughed, bouncing Jacques on his knee. “Jackie here has already told me about ‘Poo-ferre bringing pizza.’ Am I to believe him?”  
“Of course. Two cheese, one pepperoni, and one it-which-must-not-be-named,” his friend teased, nudging him again. Courfeyrac groaned, with just a touch of drama. “Pineapple on pizza is fine.”  
Interrupting what could have been a heated debate, the doorbell rang, and Courfeyrac ran to get it. He returned in a split second, tugging Prouvaire, who was already chewing on a slice of pizza, behind him. “The party has arrived!”  
Only a minute later, the four children were seated at the small and crowded kitchen table, while the three adults stood around, balancing their plates on any stack of paper that looked vaguely horizontal. “You have got to clean your kitchen, ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac said, while on his fourth piece of pineapple pizza. “Yeah; or stop bringing your work home with you!” Prouvaire interjected. “We get that you’re a fancy-shmancy professor, you don’t need to display that all over your house.”  
This drove Dominque into a fit of laughter, and she narrowly avoided chewed up crust spewing out of her mouth. “Fancy-shmancy!” she parroted. “Fancy-shmancy! Fancy-shmancy!”


	2. tutoring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enjolras tries to tutor grantaire in math because, as we all know, grantaire can't understand math

“What’s the formula for the circumference of a circle?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I asked what the formula for the circumference of a circle is.”  
“Uh… eight.”  
“Formula. For. Circumference. Of. Circle.”  
Grantaire raised one eyebrow at the blond boy, twirling his bite-marked pencil. God, it was fun to rile up this kid. “Why are you asking?”  
From across the table, his tutor groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Math,” he hissed from between his fingers. “This is afterschool tutoring and I’m your math tutor and this is your math homework. Does that make sense? Or do you need basic human language tutoring too?”  
“Enjolras, decency!” a tall boy called from across the room, looking up from the table. Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine, Combeferre!” he sing-songed sarcastically. The boy nodded once, before leaning his head back in and pointing at something on his tutee’s sheet of paper.  
“Yeah, show some decency, Enjolras,” Grantaire droned, pronouncing the other’s name very wrongly. Which he was aware of, of course. Again, it was fun.  
With one last Gorgon glare, Enjolras pushed back his chair and stormed off to stand next to the one other tutor in the room, Combeferre. Those two conferred for a minute or two, then Combeferre whispered something the boy he was sitting with, then all three of them stood up and moved to Grantaire’s table.  
“And what is this, an intervention?” he snorted, leaning back in his chair.  
“No,” Enjolras retorted, at the same time that Combeferre nodded his head. They looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and then nodded together. “Yes, intervention,” Combeferre said, gesturing at the one unnamed boy. “This is Joly. I’m tutoring him in history, but he’s good at math. Far better than you are, apparently. With the three of us, we can figure all this out.”  
Joly gave a small wave, with Grantaire acknowledged with a jerk of the head before squinting up at the tallest boy. “How do you know that I’m not really good at math and I’m just faking needing tutoring to hang out with Mr. Charming here?” He accompanied this with a gesture to Enjolras, who began to glare.  
“Fair enough. He’s very popular,” Combeferre acquiesced. “But Enj has shown me your last math test, and I think your proposed situation is unlikely, approaching impossible.” Grantaire let out a snort of laughter. “Touché.”


	3. mademoiselle?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> supposed to be how joly + musichetta meet & start dating

“M’mselle?”  
One of those boys; the ones that stand on street corners passing out papers. But he wasn’t standing on the corner now, he was in front of Musichetta, hand outstretched, holding a brown-covered book.  
“Excuse me, but I believe you dropped this.” Now he sounded shy, averting his eyes as though he was afraid of being arrested for simply looking at the woman in front of him. Hah. So he’s that sort. Boys that blush and cower and barely comprehend the female sex. The sort that Musichetta’s friends could have fun with; stealing his heart, then shattering it.  
But not her. She never quite understood why her friends did that. Maybe it was because they had so many admirers that they could spare to lose a few. That was probably where Musichetta’s reluctance came in. She’d never had anyone chase after her; at least not enough that she could waste it. Any affection she got, she had to hold onto as long as possible.  
“Mademoiselle?” Blast it. The boy was still there, a peculiar expression on his face.  
Musichetta forced herself to curtsey, before she grabbed her book and sprinted off, with nary a “Thank you.”

The following evening, Musichetta was bustling down the street, arms tucked close in an attempt to ward off the ferocious cold that had settled upon the city since the morning.  
“Oh, get out!” someone shouted, and a figure stumbled out a nearby door, laughing. They tripped straight into Musichetta, but swiftly recovered themselves and gave her a sincere, if slightly tipsy, smile, brushing off their coat. “My ‘pologies.”  
The young woman huffed, ready to chew out this drunkard who couldn’t even imbibe without bothering decent people, but the second she opened her mouth, she saw the figure’s face.  
That boy. The one she saw the previous day. Now his cravat was looser, his eyes were brighter, and he was half-way to drunk, but there was no doubt that it was the same boy. “It’s you,” she said, voice flat. The boy glanced up at her face, and then nodded. “It’s me. Is it you?”  
“Yes, monsieur,” Musichetta replied with the air of a scolding mother, putting her hands on her hips. “You seem to have consumed too much alcohol. You had better go home.”  
He gave a grin, raking one hand through his hair with a clumsy sort of devil-may-care attitude. Musichetta found it endearing. Only in the slightest, though. Only in the slightest. “Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.” The end of this sentence was accompanied with a scrunch of the nose and a frown. It was brief, but clearly there, and not… all that unattractive.  
She sighed. “Go back inside, monsieur. I’m sure they didn’t really mean to kick you out.” The boy smiled again, eyes wide and trusting. “Of course not. They’re my comrades.” With that, he threw the bar door open with just a touch of drama, before heading back in with an incomprehensible shout.  
Musichetta shook her head disapprovingly and kept walking. Men. They were baffling.


	4. are you ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arranged marriage between courfeyrac and marius-- vaguely canon time, sometime in the 1800's

“Are you ready?”  
Courfeyrac turned and met the eyes of his closest friend.  
Ready for a life of nothing. Days of only the most cordial interactions, terse conversations, awkward silences. Nights of sleeping in a separate room, or downstairs in the drawing room, or anywhere as long as it’s not that cold bed, backs to each other. Being more like reluctant acquaintances than anything real. Growing old without love. The opposite of everything he’s dreamed about since he was a child.  
“Of course.”  
Enjolras gave a careful smile, moving forward and straightening Courfeyrac’s red cravat. “It will all be alright. You can learn to—” He stopped in the midst of his sentence, then opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish. “Nevermind that.”   
You can learn to be happy with him.  
A throat was cleared from across the room, and both young men looked up at Madame de Courfeyrac standing in the doorway.  
“Luc, you are needed in the hall,” she drawled, voice as smooth and sick as honey. “And Monsieur—" She inclined her head to Enjolras “—I’m sure you can find your way out.”  
With that, she swept off. Enjolras mouthed, 'Sorry' to Courfeyrac, before he gave a formal bow and exited towards the ceremonial room.  
“Get it together, get it together,” Courfeyrac muttered to himself, pinching the skin on his wrist in an attempt to ward off tears. After a few seconds or so of this, he straightened up, face set in a stone mask, and hustled to the hallway where his mother was waiting.  
“Excellent, you made it,” she proclaimed as he entered, not even looking up from the wad of papers in her hand. “You are on in five minutes.” She finally glanced up at him, and her forehead wrinkled right away. “Don’t look so gloomy, Luc. This is a joyous occasion. You are joining our family to a prosperous one.”  
Courfeyrac gave a brisk nod. “Yes, mother.” Madame de Courfeyrac frowned even deeper, before stepping forward and whispering into her son’s ear. “You will be happy with him. You will learn to be happy with him.”

In less than an hour, the deed was done. Less than an hour to completely change lives. Luc de Courfeyrac, youngest son of a fallen businessman, was now married to Marius Pontmercy, a young man with a wealthy aunt, renowned grandfather, and vast prospects to his name.  
The grand ballroom was packed when Marius and Courfeyrac entered, arms chastely linked. It took only a second for all noise to cease, and then the applause began. Courfeyrac stared straight ahead, acknowledging none of it, while his husband (his husband) nodded in appreciation at each of the spectators.  
“Courf!” a voice crowed, and a young man with his hair in an untidy queue rushed the two the second that they stopped near the head of the room. Courfeyrac glanced up, and his whole face lit up. “Prouvaire! You made it!”  
Prouvaire grinned, wrapping his arms around his friend’s neck in a quick hug. “Why would I not have? I wouldn’t miss this day for anything.” He finally turned his attention to Marius and gave him a swift bow. “You must be the lucky boy. Marius, is it?”  
Marius nodded, returning the bow. “Marius Pontmercy.” That got only a nod from Prouvaire, before he was already back to chattering with, or more appropriately, at, Courfeyrac. “I saw that Enj showed up; and I think I saw ‘Ferre’s mother; but that’s it. Did you invite no-one else?”  
“More or less,” Courfeyrac replied sheepishly. “I didn’t want a big scene. You all know—” He halted, glanced at Marius, then lowered his voice. “You all know my… reluctance towards this arrangement.” Prouvaire nodded and patted his friend on the head. “I understand, Kohl.”  
At that, Courfeyrac laughed. “Thank you, Zitrone.” Marius blinked with confusion, and Courfeyrac put up a quieting finger before he could say anything. “Mostly-German. Which you don’t know. Also an inside joke.” That seemed to assuage the young man, as he shrugged and turned to greet a businessman wanting to congratulate him.  
“Bygod, this is awful,” Courfeyrac said in a whisper, before leaning his head forward onto Prouvaire’s shoulder. Days of only the most cordial interactions, terse conversations, awkward silences. “I can’t—I can’t do this, Prouvaire.” Then he started to cry. Not just a few tears, but full-on bawling. The sort he’d been chided for his whole life. The sort he’d be chided for now, if anyone noticed.  
From his side, Marius glanced over, face rapidly setting into concern. He started towards Courfeyrac, but Prouvaire pulled his friend closer in a defensive stance. “I think he’d do better without your interference,” the redhead snapped.  
“He’s married to me,” Marius retorted, drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest. Neither he nor Prouvaire backed down, and between them, Courfeyrac shook his head back and forth at an alarming rate. “No, no, don’t fight, please.”  
His voice cracked painfully on the last word, causing the two other young men to cease their glaring and each grab onto one of his arms. “Luc, look at me,” Marius whispered in earnest, inclining his head downwards. Courfeyrac turned on him in a whirl, eyes flaring behind the last drops of water. “Don’t call me that. You don’t have the right.”  
With those as his final words, he tore his arms away. Shoving through the crowd, he left a barely perceptible trail; two stunned young men gaping at the end.  
It only took a minute for them to turn on each other. Words were exchanged, terse words, angry words. A punch was thrown; Prouvaire was kicked out of the wedding reception with hardly time to grab his hat from the chair where he left it.  
But the party continued on.

“Luc?”  
Gentle raps on the door of the library Courfeyrac had shut himself into. He glanced up from his book, hoping beyond all hopes that whoever this was would simply get bored and move along. But no such luck.  
“Luc? I know you’re in there.” It was probably Marius. He never knew when to drop it.  
There was a sigh, and a low thump against the door.  
“Look, I wanted to apologize.” Now, that sounded better. Not great, but better. He could work with better.  
Another sigh. “Do you want me to call you Courfeyrac? Because I can do that. If you want. Is that why you got mad?” Is that why he got mad? Is that why he got mad? What sort of question was that? What was he supposed to say? No, Marius, why would I ever be upset about being forced into a marriage and then you acting like it was a normal relationship?  
Nevertheless, he slowly approached the heavy wooden door, though not yet turning the handle. “Maybe!” he called, to give Marius something to work with.  
The voice that responded sounded much brighter. “Oh! Okay! Well, yes, I can call you Courfeyrac if you want. That’s not a big deal. Is that all?” Is that all? Another stupid question.  
“Yes,” Courfeyrac replied, not wanting to make this into an argument. He opened the door with extreme caution, but Marius still winced and massaged his head. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted at the querying look that the other gave him. “I was just leaning my head on the door.” He blinked several times, before plastering on a smile. “So… Courfeyrac…


	5. seize the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based from that newsies song 'seize the day'  
> quote at the beginning from 'night watch' by terry pratchett  
> moving barricades  
> someone give courfeyrac a hug he's trying  
> yay

'Where have the barricades gone, Nobby?'  
‘That'll cost-'  
'I am your sergeant, Nobby. We are not in a financial relationship. Tell me where the bloody barricades are!'  
'Urn... prob'ly nearly to Short Street, sarge. It's all got a bit... metaphysical, sarge.'  
  
  
  
  
  
“We’re the only ones left.”  
All eyes looked up, conversations ceasing abruptly.  
“The people have not stirred. We are abandoned by those who still live in fear.”  
Now a few whispers here and there, but most eyes were still fixated on Enjolras’ serious face.  
“Let us not waste lives; let all who wish to, go from here.”  
Not a single person stood up, though several shifted.  
The moment of awkwardness drew on and was only broken by a cleared throat from the top of the barricade. “Comrades!” Courfeyrac shouted, hands cupped around his mouth to increase the volume. “Do not be cowed by the odds against us! Now is the time to seize the day, not cower in fear!”  
A few nods, and Courfeyrac stood up, grabbing the red flag stuck into the barricade and pulling it out. “Courage cannot erase our fear, but courage is when we face our fear! We’ve got to get out there and prove to those in power that we will not go easily, if we go at all.”  
“Hear, hear!” Prouvaire yelled, climbing up to stand next to his friend. He grasped the flagpole as well, lifting it up higher, and Courfeyrac gave him a grateful smile. “Behold the brave battalion that stand side by side,” the ginger started singing, quickly being joined by Courfeyrac and a few other voices down on the barricade. “Too few in number and too proud to hide!”  
This was received with a chorus of cheers, and others stood up to join them. Combeferre clambered up the barricade and put his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Then say to the others, who did not follow through…”  
More or less everyone was singing along now; standing up, grabbing their guns, shaking hands with their companions; a new light of hope in their eyes.  
“You’re still our brothers, and we will fight for you!”  
Gavroche pumped his fist in the air, whooping. From the paving stones, Enjolras shrugged before adding his voice in. “Courfeyrac is right! We cannot give up! We will fight!”  
Courfeyrac beamed down at him, and Enjolras gave a military salute. “You’ve got this, comrade.”  
The singing started up again, with Prouvaire at the head. “Now is the time to seize the day… stare down the odds and seize the day! Once we’ve begun, if we stand as one, someday becomes somehow!”  
“And a prayer becomes a vow!” Bossuet interjected, helping Joly up onto his feet.  
From the top of the barricade, Courfeyrac made his way down, the flag high in his hands. He planted his feet down defiantly on the street, eyes shining. “And the fight starts right damn NOW!”  
Everyone dissolved into cheers, and a hasty rank was formed behind Courfeyrac. “Let’s go!” the curly-haired young man shouted, Combeferre at his side. The line began to march off through the Rue des Precheurs, not even trying to do so inconspicuously.  
When they reached the Marche des Innocents, chaos itself seemed to possess them. Gavroche rapped on shuttered windows with the butt of the pistol he was still holding on to. Bahorel was practically sprinting ahead, yelling out as he went.  
Within only a few minutes, they came upon another barricade, this one smaller, but still blocking off a few alleyways.  
A teenage boy with blond hair tied back stuck his head over the crest of the barricade, lifting a rifle. “Who are you?” he called, a clear quiver in his voice.  
“The barricade of Corinth!” Courfeyrac yelled out, waving one of his hands. “We’re on the move!”  
The boy ducked back down but popped back up again in a moment. “Where are you going? Barricades genr’ly… uh… don’t move.”  
Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the sky. “We’re a new type of barricade, then. Join us?” That started up a new round of singing, conducted by Bahorel, who was waving his hands dramatically. “Now is the time to seize the day! Answer the call and don’t delay!”  
Another teenager clambered up the barricade, and the two conferred, heads bent close together. Finally the original boy looked up, nodding down at Courfeyrac. “We’ll join.”  
A swarm of people, mostly older teenagers, but a few children Gavroche’s age, came over the barricade, melting in seamlessly with the crowd.  
As the now-larger group began to walk again, the blond teenager who had shouted down walked next to Courfeyrac, explaining something to him with expansive gestures. “—So we brought our little siblings and built a barricade. Not sure if the coppers even knew we were there.” The older laughed at that. “The police sure as hell knew we were at ours. At least two or so major attacks before two this morning.”  
Gavroche had fallen into step with a girl of about eleven, with messy brown curls and dark eyelashes, and was regaling her with a dramatic tale. All the rest of them were mixing, chatting like people who had known each other for years, and not only minutes.  
The group passed a few remnants of barricades as they walked; bodies laid out in lines and soldiers moving around, pulling down the piles of wood. They tried to skirt around these places, not wanting to be seen, or have to see the corpses of others who weren’t so lucky.  
By the time they reached an open plaza near the Pantheon, many of their number had left, including most of those who joined at the barricade they stumbled upon; they had peeled off at various streets and made their way back home with their tails between their legs.  
“Comrades; citizens!” Courfeyrac yelled, hoisting the red flag over his head. “Here is where we will build our barricade! Uh… again!”  
The thirty-or-so people who remained let out a cheer loud enough to shake windowpanes. “Wrongs will be righted if we’re united; let us seize the day!”  
With that, they began work on the new barricade, starting with tearing up the paving-stones. A few windows high above opened, and curious faces peered out. One clear voice shouted, “Go home!” and was immediately booed by a chorus of others.  
A chair came down from a garret room, then another, then another, then a table, then more. In only a few minutes, there was a pile of furniture in the middle of the plaza. A team led by Enjolras began tugging the pieces over to the rising mound blocking off the main road, while Feuilly and Bossuet headed the continued efforts of pulling the paving-stones up.  
Finally, the barricade was finished, and was only incrementally shorter than the one by Corinth, with smaller obstructions across the alleyways leading into the plaza. Courfeyrac put the red flag on the top of the largest one, wedged between a wardrobe and a child-sized bed.  
No sooner had he done this than a regiment of National Guard rounded the corner, crouching down into lines. “Abandon the barricade peacefully and no one will be injured!” the commander called, gun at the ready.  
Courfeyrac glanced down at Combeferre, who gave him a small smile, then back down the street towards the soldiers. “No!” he shouted. “Like it or not, we’re here, and we won’t leave without a fight!”  
A solitary gunshot rang out.  
The first person to realize who’d been hit was Bahorel, and he rushed over to where Prouvaire was slumped against a rough wooden table. “Joly! Combeferre!” he screamed, shucking off his scarlet jacket and pressing it against the wound in Prouvaire’s chest.  
The two students rushed over, talking in low tones to each other as they bent over the fallen redhead. Joly gently pushed Bahorel out of the way, as Combeferre knelt down and applied pressure with the heels of his hands.  
It seemed both a few quick seconds and forever before Combeferre stood back up, shaking his head mournfully. Courfeyrac stared at him for a moment, before turning back to face the National Guard, with tears in his eyes. “That boy was Jean Prouvaire! He was twenty-three!”  
Down the street, the captain shifted uncomfortably as the curly-haired young man continued. “He wanted to write poetry and enjoy the company of his friends and he did not deserve to die!” Combeferre came to stand at his side, blood-covered hands shoved into his coat pockets.  
The silence drew on, broken by neither side. Joly was sobbing next to an empty cask of wine, while Bossuet tried in vain to comfort him. Enjolras had removed Prouvaire’s body from the barricade, setting it down gently against a stone wall and covering it with a cloth.  
A dull tremor began to run through the ground, drawing the attention of the young men on the barricade. Feuilly peered over the rampart, before turning back with wide eyes. “They have a cannon!” Combeferre cursed under his breath. “Of course they do. Is it rifled?” Feuilly looked at him questioningly, and the taller young man waved it off. “Never mind that.”  
“I’ve got it!” a young voice shouted as Courfeyrac looked up and saw Gavroche standing on top of the barricade. “Gavroche… get down right this instant,” he hissed from in between his teeth. The boy gave a devil-may-care grin, adjusting himself to be on the other side, going down. “Look at me, I’m almost there!”  
He dropped to the pavement, bouncing back up onto his feet. “Tada!” Courfeyrac’s eyes grew wide and frightened, and he started to scale the barricade. “Gavroche, get back here!”  
“Whoa, whoa!” Combeferre exclaimed, grabbing Courfeyrac around the waist and pulling him back down. “We don’t need you over there as well.” The young man with curly hair just glared at him. “We don’t need Gavroche over there in the first place!”  
From down the street, there was a duet of crashes, a cry of surprise, a childish laugh, and then a gunshot. Courfeyrac’s head whipped around violently, and he broke out of Combeferre’s grasp. Climbing to the top of the barricade, he peered through the haze, letting out an audible gasp of surprise. “They shot him. The bastards shot him.”  
Enjolras was almost immediately at his side, placing his hand on the other’s arm. “But look. He took out the cannon’s wheels. They can’t use it against us now.” That was of little comfort, as Courfeyrac started crying his eyes out, and buried his head in Enjolras’ coat. “They shot an eleven-year-old!” he managed to squeeze out in between sobs.  
“Hey, hey, take deep breaths,” the blond soothed. “We’ll find a way. We’ll do it, somehow. Gavroche will not have died in vain.” Combeferre appeared at Courfeyrac’s other elbow, awkwardly patting him on the back. “We’ll make them pay. Now, let’s go.”  
Courfeyrac stood up, a shake in his step, and reloaded his gun. “


	6. thud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conversation between courfeyrac and javert before the barricades
> 
> i think i was planning to make javert courfeyrac's dad or something

Thud.  
He hit the ground hard. Fantastic. Tomorrow, there’d be a bruise on his back the size of one of Prouvaire’s books.  
But it was looking less and less likely that he’d even see tomorrow. The horseman who knocked him down had rode on, but here was another one, coming to finish the job. For God’s sake. Dying before the barricades are even built is an idiotic move. Enjolras would not approve.  
A man with a dark jacket and cap rushed in, grabbing Courfeyrac’s arm and pulling up to his feet. Just in time. “Thank you, sir,” the young man blurted, already turning to leave, but the man didn’t let go of his sleeve. “Wait.”  
Courfeyrac glanced up at the man’s face now. Certainly didn’t look threatening. Maybe he was a bit senile. But no, he didn’t look old enough for that. A lunatic?  
“Sir…” he started, making sure to be careful. Just because this man isn’t threatening now doesn’t mean he won’t become so at the slightest provocation. “There’s a row. We can’t very well stand here.”  
The man nodded, before pulling Courfeyrac behind him and into an alley. “Is this better?” Not really. Not what he meant. But okay. He can humor an old fellow for a few minutes. “Yes, monsieur, much better.”  
“Good.” The reply was terse. Courfeyrac bobbed his head along, before broaching the obvious, at least to him, subject. “So, why did you want me to wait? You’re not going to murder me in this alley, are you?”  
For a second, the man looked almost offended. “No, no,” he clarified. “You just…” There was a moment of pause, before he stuck his hand out. “I’m… Jean-Renaud.” First names. Okay. This guy is hiding something; no one uses first names with someone they just met; but okay. Two can play this game.  
“And I’m Felix,” Courfeyrac said in response. “And you were saying…?”  
The other started. “Right. Well… you are part of this uprising, aren’t you?” Courfeyrac nodded warily. “I wanted to caution you against


	7. sounds gay i'm in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eponine makes a youtube series

[Episode One: Welcome]

-beep-  
[The girl adjusted her dark hair, though she did more harm than good.]  
Uh… hi.  
[She punctuated this with a nod, playing with a loose curl that had escaped her bun.]  
Yeah. Well, I’m Éponine.  
[From behind the camera, a girl laughed and whispered ‘Ponine, that was truly awful.]  
[Éponine laughed, eyes flicking up to where the girl must be.]  
Right. So… let me do that again.  
[She cleared her throat, before plastering on a smile.]  
Hi everyone, I’m Éponine, and you’re watching the premiere episode of Sounds Gay, I’m In.  
[The same camera girl giggled again. Éponine cracked a smile and abruptly leaned forward, reaching out and swiveling the camera.]  
[A blond girl with blue highlights opened her eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights, and then grinned.]  
Yo.  
[Éponine turned the camera back towards herself.]  
That’s Musichetta, my epic camerawoman. I’d be lost without her.  
[Aw, thanks, Musichetta cooed.]  
[The dark-haired girl smiled sweetly, brushing a chunk of hair out of her eyes.]  
So…   
[She dragged it out, eyes shifting.]  
If this is going to be a series, I guess I’d better introduce myself more.  
I’m Éponine, but my friends call me ‘Ponine.  
[Or Poo-Poo!]  
Well, thanks ‘Chetta.  
Anyhow. Hmm…  
I have a younger sister and… whatsit… two? three? younger brothers? Maybe only one?  
[Éponine shrugged.]  
Plus a crappy parent or two. At any rate, that’s my family.  
[Her face took on a fake glare.]  
I’ve got a girlfriend and she’s amazing and I love her a lot. Also, most of my friends are mega-gay. I’m not kidding. Rainbows for days.   
If you’ve got a problem with that, you probably shouldn’t be watching a YouTube series with the word ‘gay’ in the title anyway.  
[After that pronouncement, she went back to smiling.]  
But, y’know, it’s all good.  
[Éponine glanced down at her watch, before nodding to herself and looking back at the camera.]  
I’ve got to go to some parent-teacher conference for my brother, who apparently punched out some kid during math class, so this will have to be the end.  
Tune in next time to hear me discuss my plans for this show! Bye!  
[Bye! Musichetta called cheerily.]  
-beep- 

[Episode Two: This is not the Courfeyrac Show]

-beep-  
[Éponine beamed from the screen.]  
Welcome back!  
[Next to her, a curly-haired teenager elbowed her.]  
[Éponine laughed, putting one arm around their shoulder.]  
This is Courfeyrac, who is my best friend, and he’s very valid, and if you say otherwise, I will fight you.  
[Courfeyrac gave a grin, wiggling out from under Éponine’s arm.]  
Hey you guys. You heard ‘Ponine. I’m valid, so deal with it.  
[He threw his hands dramatically into the air.]  
I’m transgender and gay as f…  
[At a glare from Éponine, he blushed and shrugged.]  
As heck. But what can you do.  
Good. [Éponine interjected, casting a smile at the camera.]  
This kid is gay and valid and we stan him.  
[She clapped her hands together.]  
But! This is not the Courfeyrac Show, no matter how much he wants it to be. We are here to discuss what we want this series to include.  
Musichetta? Stop hiding behind the camera and get your behind over here.  
[The blond girl skulked over, sitting down next to Éponine.]  
My behind is here.  
[Éponine clapped again and grinned at both of her friends.]  
Great! So… what do we want?  
I want a boyfriend! [Courfeyrac yelled.]  
[Musichetta giggled, leaning over and whispering something to the boy that made him blush severely red and cover his face with his hands.]  
Yes, Courf, we know you do. [Éponine said with a patronizing air.]  
How about you just talk about stuff? [Musichetta suggested, shrugging as she did so.] Stuff you did the week of each video; maybe also you could talk about some issues in the world.  
[Courfeyrac slammed his hands down on the carpet.]  
Invite your friends to star on the show! Like meeeee!  
[Éponine pointed a finger at both him and Musichetta, nodding.]  
Both are excellent ideas. I’ll bear them in mind.  
[She pursed her lips.]  
And, y’know, if anyone’s actually watching, if any of you have ideas, feel more than free to share.  
[There was an awkward moment of silence, before Éponine brightened up.]  
But right now, we’re going to interview our special guest star!  
[Courfeyrac rolled his eyes with a laugh, and Musichetta clapped her hands, before scampering back to behind the camera.]  
[Éponine cleared her throat, adjusting her position to be facing Courfeyrac.]  
Ahem. So… can you state your name for the camera?  
[The boy dramatically brushed curls off his forehead.]  
Jean-Jacques Rousseau. I’m really an awful person.  
[Musichetta began having a coughing fit off-screen, and when she caught her breath, she laughed out, I’m going to call Enjolras and tell him what you just said.]  
[Courfeyrac gave a mischievous grin.]  
What’ll he do, put me in time-out? I’m not scared of Enjolras.  
Maybe you should be, [Éponine retorted, trying to disguise it in a yawn.]  
[Courfeyrac playfully glared at her.]  
I could take him in a fight. Maybe.  
[She rolled her eyes.]  
Sure you could. What’s your actual name, Mr. Smarty-Pants?  
Luc Philippe de Courfeyrac, of the illustrious de Courfeyrac family.  
[Éponine mimed a slow clap.]  
Good, we got somewhere.  
Next, uh… what are your interests?  
[Courfeyrac thought for a moment, during which Musichetta giggled and zoomed the camera far in on his ear and back out again.]  
Debating. Hanging out with my friends. Ooh! Wishing I had a boyfriend! That’s a biggie.  
Right, right. [Éponine nodded.]  
[The boy smiled angelically.]  
And playing with your brother, ‘Ponine.  
[Éponine laughed, patting her friend on his head.]  
Of course. How could I forget. You’re basically a free babysitter.  
Of course, [Courfeyrac added.] Gav’s awesome.  
[Enough with the ‘of courses,’ let’s get on with it! Musichetta called.]  
Okay, ‘Chetta, chill!  
So Courf, what are your goals for the future?  
[Again, Courfeyrac had to think about the question for a bit, before he answered with confidence.]  
Annoying everyone as much as physically possible, as well as revolutions and building barricades when I’m 25.  
[Éponine had to stifle a giggle at that.]  
Alright, that’s valid.  
[She turned to stare directly into the camera.]  
What even do people ask at interviews?  
[Why do you think you’re qualified for this job?]  
[Courfeyrac giggled, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle it.]  
I’m not.  
[Éponine rolled her eyes.]  
On the contrary, bro. As far as Courfeyracs go, you’re a pretty decent one.

  
[Episode Three: ]

-beep-  
[Éponine gave a small wave, face set.]  
Hello again, and welcome back to Sounds Gay, I’m In.  
Before we begin, I’d like to read the one comment we received on the last video.  
[She smiled slightly now.]  
Greenandwhite48 said “Suggestion: GET COURFEYRAC A BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!” There were, like, ten exclamation points.  
[Éponine laughed.]  
Thank you for your input. We’re working on it.

  
[Episode Four: We all freaking love Joly]

-beep-  
[A shaky cell phone video]  
[A short boy with dark hair almost in a bowl cut and round glasses stood on the front porch of a house, yelling out to Éponine, who was in the driveway, dancing, while rain is pouring.]  
Éponine, you are going to die doing that!  
[She laughed, turning her face upwards.]   
No I’m not, I’m having fun!  
[The boy huffed and turned to face the cell phone’s camera.]  
Let it be known, if she dies, that I gave her my medical warning.   
[With that, he went inside, slamming the door behind him.]  
Noooooo! Jolyyyyyy! [Éponine squealed.]  
[She bounded up onto the porch.  
‘Chetta, your boyfriend is weird.  
[The girl behind the camera giggled, making the camera shake even more.]  
-beep-

-beep-  
[A very wet Éponine with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders grinned.]  
Welcome back, loyal fans!  
[Joly sneezed.]  
Bless you.   
And, well, maybe I should say loyal fan, singular. Greenandwhite48 left a comment again. They said, “Thanks for this, I’ll tell all my friends to watch. I only have one friend though.” Then one of those tongue-sticking out emojis. And of course, the message was in text-speak.  
[Éponine gave a bright grin.]  
Well, this should be an excellent video for you and your singular friend to watch! We have a Joly today!  
[Joly nodded solemnly and waved once.]  
Hello. I am what is scientifically known as ‘a Joly.’  
[He’s my Joly! Musichetta shouted.]  
[The boy nodded again, the hint of a smile sneaking onto his lips.]  
Correct. I am her Joly.  
What about Laigle? [Éponine teased, elbowing Joly in the side.]  
[Joly’s smile turned to an expression of dismay.]  
I forgot about him. I—  
[¬How does one forget about one’s own boyfriend? was Musichetta’s interjection. Especially when said boyfriend is a hot one!]  
[Joly blushed and buried his face in his hands.]  
It was an accident! [he mumbled from between his fingers.]

[Episode Five: Attractive people all arounddddd][Live Stream]

-beep-  
[This time, there were five people on screen. Éponine, Musichetta, Joly, a dark-skinned boy with a shaved head, and a blonde girl in a blue dress.]  
Welcome to the fifth episode! [Éponine cheered.] Where crap’s gonna get really gay.  
[She smiled brightly, slipping her hand into the blonde girl’s.]  
We’ve got Courfeyrac manning the camera—  
[Hello!]  
This wonderful lady here is Cosette, my girlfriend—  
[Cosette waved with a grin.]  
And ‘Chetta and Joly brought their boyfriend, Laigle.  
[He nodded, before leaning over and whispering something to Joly that made the shorter boy giggle.]  
[Éponine flipped through a few papers, and looked up directly into the camera.]  
As you know, if you watched our last video, this one is a live stream. So, that should be—  
-bing-  
Looks like we got our first comment!  
[She squinted at the screen.]  
Greenandwhite48 says “I’m making my brother watch this one, ‘cause I told him that Courfeyrac was cute.”  
[Courfeyrac gasped from behind the camera, and scooted around to be in front.]  
I am cute.  
-bing-  
Okay, this one says… “He has concurred.”  
[He squealed, clasping his hands to his chest and scooting back to his place as the cameraman. I’m cute!]  
[Éponine smiled, dimples showing, and gave her friend a thumbs-up.]  
Thank you, Greenandwhite48’s brother. I think you just made that nerd’s day.  
[Rude! But yes.]  
[The girl laughed.]  
Fantastic.  
-bing-  
Hmm, a new person. tortlez125: “Hello all. I was just wondering; how does one ask someone out?”  
[I wanna know that too!]  
Shush, Courf.  
[Joly laughed, then had a fit of coughing.]  
I do not know, because I did not actually ask these two out. Laigle asked me, and Laigle asked Musichetta for the both of us. I am far too socially awkward. [he proclaimed after taking a few deep breaths.]  
[Laigle reached over to muss Joly’s hair.]  
Well, I just went to him, and I was all, hey, you’re cute and smart, do you want to go for ice cream with me on Wednesday?  
[Musichetta jumped into the conversation] Then blah blah blah, they’re sickeningly adorable together for a couple months, then for some reason they thought I was cute? Or so I’ve heard.  
[Joly smiled, reminiscing.]  
I remember that. Laigle and I went up to her one day after school, and he talked to her while I just stood there being a ball of anxiety.  
But we were slightly lucky! [Laigle practically yelled.] She thought we were both cute too! So we all went out to some science museum on the weekend, and I tripped over eighteen things, and broke my arm, but we started dating! 


End file.
